


Play The Hero

by ConsultingCaffrey



Category: White Collar
Genre: But its ok because i make it all better in the end, Once again I hurt this poor baby, i need to stop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:30:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6554896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingCaffrey/pseuds/ConsultingCaffrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn't sure what went wrong first. Maybe it was a few things. Like deciding not to tell Peter what he was doing or where he was going to be today. Or thinking that it was a good idea to play the hero on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play The Hero

(This one took me forever, and I lost it once, so I've restarted it at least that many times. But it turned out so much better than I expected, so here it is.)

It was funny, Neal thought as he fell, it was funny because he'd promised Elizabeth he'd protect Peter; he'd never promised to protect himself.

He wasn't sure what went wrong first. Maybe it was a few things. Like deciding not to tell Peter what he was doing or where he was going to be today. Or thinking that it was a good idea to play the hero on his own. He wasn't an agent. He wasn't even a real part of the bureau. He was just a criminal consultant who should really start thinking about the consequences of being too bold.

He'd seen an opportunity to take down the man they were currently trying to bring in, and instead of telling Peter, he'd gone to do it himself. The two of them hadn't really been seeing eye to eye lately. The agent in Peter Burke wouldn't let him see past the law. Everything had to be done by the book, which was confining. So Neal had gone off the books. It was supposed to be simple. He'd left little room for error, yet here he was, taking a bullet.

The piece of lead hit him in the chest, just below the collarbone on his left side. It tore through muscle and bone, the momentum taking his upper body with it, but his legs were too slow to follow, so he fell hard, landing on his side with a breathless grunt.

For a few seconds, his vision was white with pain and his lungs locked up. He couldn't even manage a small gasp.

Now he understood why Peter often got so frustrated with him. It was moments like these that he saw through an agent's eyes, saw that this was one of the times where maybe playing the hero was stupid and brash and yeah, he definitely should have called Peter.

The pavement beneath him was cracked and rough. That was the first thing he noticed. Second was the blood beginning to flow through his shirt and drip steadily onto the ground. Panicked, he tried to get up, knowing that it wasn't over yet, that the man was still here with that gun. However, he'd barely gotten his legs under him before they buckled again, this time pitching him backwards. The breath left his lungs again, or he'd never regained it.

He brought a hand up to his blood soaked chest, eyes wide and mouth gaping as he felt hot liquid rise up between his fingers.

When he remembered to glance up, there was no sign of the other man. He must have gotten scared and took off. Neal couldn't help but feel disappointed at that. He'd been so close to actually doing something right for a change. Maybe it was stupid of him to try.

No time to think about that now, though. He groaned, his feet scraping against the ground as he writhed in agony. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Peter was right. He should have listened.

Phone. Neal could have smacked himself for almost forgetting. With shaking fingers, he sifted through his pockets with bloody fingers, finding it after what seemed like ages in the last place he checked, of course. However, as he brought it out, it fell apart in his hand and he stared at it, dumbfounded. The bullet had gone clear through it.

Neal threw away it in frustration, and the movement only increased the pain in his chest, making him wheeze. The pieces scattered with a satisfying noise, but now he was out of ideas. With no phone, he couldn't call for help, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, so he had limited options here.

Peter would know what to do, he thought bitterly. He was feeling more and more stupid the more he thought back on what he'd attempted to do. But, he reasoned, he'd only been trying to help. He'd only ever wanted to give that much.

Something touched his face, startling him, but when he opened his eyes (when had they closed?), there was nothing there. It happened again and he raised his eyes to the sky, which was a deep grey color now. Rain. He almost laughed. Now it couldn't possibly be worse.

The rain fell lightly, but it was enough to make him shiver. It mixed with the blood still trickling from his chest and filled the cracks of the pavement with pink. His hair darkened and stuck to his head while he closed his eyes against the droplets slowly soaking him.

He bent one leg at the knee, bringing his foot up to set it flat against the ground. It was a pathetic attempt to move and it only made him that much more frustrated.

Then he glanced down at the anklet, freezing in both senses of the word. The green light was still there, as always. He needed that to change.

On any other day, he'd think long and hard about cutting it, but now he didn't even hesitate. It was a necessity. Peter would understand.

But there was nothing to cut it with, and it wasn't like he could just slip it off. It was also meant to withstand quite the extent of roughness. Neal glanced around, but there wasn't so much as a brick nearby to smash it with. His hopes sunk a little, but now that he had a goal in mind, he refused to give up. He lay there for a moment longer, getting his bearings and working up the will to move. It was going to hurt. He knew that.

With a short, pained gasp, he used one hand to push himself up, the other pressed tightly against the wound. He didn't bother to stifle a whimper. No one was around to hear it anyway. Once he was sitting up, he curled his legs under him and stayed there for a while, rain running down his face. He shivered off and on, wincing.

He looked around, searching for anything he could use to get the anklet to go off. That was all he needed. The building in front of him held no answers, nor did the empty lot behind. A chain link fence ran alongside it where a little bit of grass grew, the only green thing in sight. Neal almost let himself fall back onto the ground, disheartened, but then he spotted the broken pieces of his phone. Those might be helpful.

He reached for one, but immediately regretted it when his chest screamed in pain and his vision blurred. His fingers were cold and numb, but he only reached further, clumsily grabbing for a broken piece of plastic. He pulled it back to himself and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. His head was light and dizzy, but he knew that was the blood loss. Sometimes he hated knowing so much.

The piece of his phone was long and sharp, and he didn't waste any time jamming it into the hole where the key went. He tried not to reason with himself. He knew it wasn't a lock to be picked. 

He tried anyway. It was difficult to reach his foot, and it hurt when his chest pressed against his knee, but he pushed through it the best he could. Hot blood started staining through his pant leg, despite the hand he still held against the bullet hole. The green light became an annoyance and the only thing on his mind was snuffing it out. His hand trembled as he messed with the key hole for a while, and every second that passed, it became harder to focus. He blinked water out of his eyes and panted with the effort it was taking just to stay upright. The light remained green.

When he accidentally dropped the broken piece of plastic, he didn't bother picking it back up. There was no point. He remained hunched over, shivering and trying not to make noise every time he exhaled. 

'Peter was right,' he thought over and over. 'Peter was right. I'll never be anything but what I am. A screw up. A con.'

He almost didn't feel himself listing to the side until he was falling again. His head hit the hard pavement and he didn't try to open his eyes, rolling weakly onto his back. He thought there might have been tears mixing in with the rain, but he didn't dwell on it. Instead he pressed both hands firmly over his chest and tightened his jaw. It wasn't fair, he thought rather childishly.

In a sudden burst of strength, he shouted and kicked out with his right leg, his heel crashing against the anklet. He'd probably have a circular bruise around his leg from it, but that didn't really matter at this point. He did it again, then again, grateful to have some other, lesser pain to think about. He was honestly surprised when he heard a loud crack and at first, he was certain that he'd just broken his ankle. It sure hurt enough. But when he risked a glance, he saw the anklet lying in several pieces. The light was out.

That was all he'd needed to do, so he let his body go limp, closing his eyes and knowing it wouldn't be long before Peter came. He hoped it'd be Peter that came.

He shivered violently in the rain, clutching his chest tightly, but not able to stop the blood from leaking through his fingers. Each breath let him feel the bullet lodged in his back, stuck in his shoulder blade, he guessed. He wasn't sure if he'd rather have that or another hole. At least the bullet would be out, but then, he reasoned, he'd be bleeding from both sides. No, this was fine.

That mini debate with himself settled, he had nothing more to focus on, and his thoughts turned back to the bullet and, more importantly, the hole in his chest it had carved. Why was he still awake? It was raining, he'd been shot, he was in pain. He had nothing else to do.

He almost succeeded, only noticing he'd been drifting off when he was woken by sirens. Yes. Peter. He'd stay awake for that.

But it wasn't Peter who came running across the old cracked parking lot. It was a cop, or so he guessed. Two of them, actually. Not long after that, there was one familiar face. Not Peter, but Jones was good enough. Jones and some lady who was the only one that touched him, gently moving his hand away from his bloody chest. She was talking, and her accent was pretty much the only thing that caught his attention. He couldn't place it. Italian maybe. No.

She slipped a hand beneath him, feeling for an exit wound he knew she wouldn't find, and then he realized she was talking to him, not Jones or the cops.

"...okay, hon?"

Hon. She'd called him Hon. Only Peter and Elizabeth did that, he thought. Apparently he was wrong.

There were more people than he'd realized, and now there was that woman along with another man with their hands all over him. Jones was on the phone, so he didn't do anything about the assault. Okay, yes, they were only helping, but it hurt and Neal couldn't move to get away from it. Luckily, his body finally decided it had had enough and he let his eyes slip shut as sound faded into echoes and the pain lifted slowly.

He was vaguely aware of that woman's voice with the accent, and then he was moving, being lifted it felt like. He almost opened his eyes just to see if Peter was there yet, but when he tried it didn't work, so he gave up. Peter would be there soon.

He felt something on his face, but made no move to bat it away like he very much wanted to. He was too numb, too cold, still clinging to consciousness, which irritated him. 'I just want to sleep,' he thought. 'Let me sleep.'

-)()(-

"Neal!"

He jumped, glancing around. It was Peter who had called him, but he wasn't anywhere in the office as far as he could tell.

Neal took his feet off his desk and looked over at Diana, only to find that she wasn't at her desk as usual. Instead, there was some other agent there, and Neal blinked in confusion. She'd been there just a moment ago, hadn't she? He stood and walked past, giving the strange agent an odd look as he passed. Maybe Peter was over by the break area.

Nope. No Peter there. Yet Neal had clearly heard him. He glanced up to the office, only to pause in even further confusion when he saw another unfamiliar person sitting by the computer, sipping from Peter's mug.

Neal trotted up the stairs, barging into the office and asking, "Who are you? What are you doing in here?"

The agent looked up, frowning. "What are you talking about, Neal? Get out of my office."

Neal snorted. "Your office? This is Peter's."

The other man set the mug down slowly. "No... It's not. What's gotten into you?"

Neal shook his head, not understanding. "What are you talking about? I don't even know you."

The agent was really looking at him funny now. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm just looking for Peter." Jones. Jones would know. However, after glancing back down into the bullpen, he saw once again that there was a stranger at the agent's desk, acting like he owned it. Neal ignored the man in Peter's office, walking out to check Hughes'. Surely Hughes would be there.

A woman was there instead, talking on the phone with someone and sitting in Hughes' chair. Neal stared for a few seconds, then turned and ran back down the stairs. If he couldn't find Peter here, surely he'd be able to find him at home. Maybe his friend could tell him what the hell was going on.

-)()(-

Peter had been terrified to arrive at the hospital just as they were bringing Neal in. There was blood all over his front, and his face was deathly pale. The paramedics were shouting over one another, shouting things Peter couldn't follow, and then he was being pulled back by hospital staff when he tried to follow them.

Now, he sat beside Diana, who had arrived shortly after he did. They'd heard nothing about Neal, only being told that he was in critical condition and they were doing everything they could.

Peter sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes with his palms. "It's been almost half an hour," he said.

"He's in good hands," Diana said assuredly. "And don't forget, this is Caffrey. He'll pull through. He always does."

"Yeah," Peter said quietly. "He does.

-)()(-

Neal knocked on the door, then stood there, waiting. He heard footsteps and when someone opened it, he almost said, "Oh, thank god." But the words died on his lips when he saw an unfamiliar woman looking at him expectantly.

"Yes?" she asked, "Can I help you?"

Neal blinked. "Where's Peter? And Elizabeth?"

She tilted her head. "Who? I'm sorry, I think you've got the wrong place."

Neal took a step back, looking at the front door he knew so well. No way did he have the wrong place. This was the Burkes' house. "Sorry," he mumbled, "I, uh... thought this was it."

The door closed and he walked away in shock. What was happening? Had he gone crazy? Was this a prank? No, Peter would never go so far with such a thing.

June's. He could go to June's.

He always walked right in, so he did now, not forgetting the key in his pocket. He unlocked the door, pleased to find that it worked, though he couldn't imagine why it wouldn't.

He paused in the foyer, calling, "June? Are you here?"

At once, an old woman, not June, walked around the corner, looking surprised. "Who are you?" she demanded. "How did you get in my house?"

Neal's eyes widened. How was this happening to him? Was he really going crazy?

He ran, not looking back as he raced away from the house. He had no particular destination in mind. Where could he possibly go? Where were his friends, his family? 

Abruptly, he came to a halt.

Where was the anklet?

He'd been wearing it long enough. He should have realized it was missing right from the start. Only now did he notice the absence of the incessant chafing against his leg. He looked down, lifting his pant leg to see that it was true. The anklet was gone. He was free.

But what was the point? Clearly no one could be found. Or maybe they never existed to begin with and Neal was losing his marbles. The thought made him shudder. No, that couldn't be it. He remembered everything so clearly.

Standing on the sidewalk with absolutely no idea what to do, he heard it again, just like back in the office.

"Neal." It wasn't a shout, as before. It sounded soft, gentle. But it was Peter.

Neal looked around quickly, calling his friend's name desperately, but once again, he was nowhere in sight. He brought his hands up to his head, running his fingers through his hair and taking deep breath.

"What's wrong with me?" he gasped.

-)()(-

The day had passed slowly. Neal was stable now, but they were keeping him in the ICU. That meant no visitors for a while.

Peter had waited long enough. No way was he leaving his friend now, not when Neal needed him most. He was an agent. He knew when to use his badge and when not to use it. This was a grey area, he decided. Neal would laugh at that, he thought as he forced his way into the room.

The sight of his CI almost made him turn around and walk right back out of there, but his feet carried him slowly over to the side of the bed, unable to take his eyes off the still, pale form lying there. He was hooked up to god knew how many different things. It looked so wrong, but after careful inspection, Peter was slightly relieved to see that it was only a ventilator and a heart monitor. Not that the knowledge made things okay. Neal was still in the hospital with a bullet hole in his chest, and there was nothing Peter could do to help him.

He sank into the chair next to the bed and had to collect himself for a moment.

"Neal." 

That was all he could say.

-)()(-

Mozzie's safehouses were abandoned, had been for longer than he knew was possible. There wasn't even the usual hidden cache in the wall at Tuesday nor the getaway bag at the old storage unit. In any other circumstance, Neal would think he had run off somewhere, but considering everything that had happened today, he knew that wasn't the case. He was just... gone. Maybe he never existed.

There was nothing. He was free, but he had nothing and no one. What was the point of that? 

He didn't go back to the bureau. Not with all those fake agents he didn't know, even if they seemed to know him well enough.

Instead, he wandered, not stepping outside his radius because it still felt wrong, no matter what.

When he finally stopped, gathering his bearings in the coffee shop near the bureau, he checked his pockets, finding his phone, his wallet, June's key, and his lockpick set, all of which he put on the table in front of him. Nothing unusual. At least until he opened the wallet.

The picture was his, the information was all his, but the last name made him freeze. No, that couldn't be right.

That said "Neal Bennett".

Neal leaned back and took a shaky breath, then shoved it all back in his pockets. He was back to walking around the city aimlessly, the name "Bennett" repeating itself over and over in his head. That wasn't right. None of this was. Where was everyone he knew? Why was he suddenly alone in the world with no one but a bunch of strangers acting like they knew him?

Night was approaching. He looked up at the darkening sky and shivered, glancing around. Where was he supposed to go? Not June's, not Peter's.

He decided on one of Mozzie's places, picking one at random, which was Tuesday. It was closer.

Once there, he slid down the wall and folded his arms over his knees. It was all too much. He felt like he'd lost everyone he'd ever cared about in one fell swoop, all just... gone. Wiped off the face of the Earth and forgotten by the rest of New York, save for him.

Burying his face in his arms, Neal let himself cry a bit.

"Can you hear me?"

He flinched violently, jerking his head back up with wide eyes. Peter again.

"Yes," he answered in a whisper, then louder. "I can hear you."

For a moment there was no answer, and Neal felt his hopes sink again. But then Peter continued, this time without stopping.

"That was a really stupid thing to do, you know that? But I get it. I know. You just wanted to... It doesn't matter. Listen to me, Neal Caffrey, if you even think about giving up, I'll beat your ass myself. Are we clear?"

Neal smiled a bit. That was the Peter he knew. "I won't," he said, not even sure what he was promising. But if Peter wanted him to do it, he'd do it, no matter what.

"I have to go," Peter said, and it seemed that his voice got louder, more clear when he added, "I'll be back in the morning. Don't you go anywhere."

Neal wanted to beg his friend to stay, desperate for some form of company, but he somehow knew Peter couldn't hear him. It was useless.

With a long, exhausted sigh, he let his head fall back down onto his arms, closing his eyes. Morning, Peter had said. He could wait till then.

-)()(-

It had been a week already. Peter was beginning to lose hope, bit by precious bit. Neal was the same, still in a coma. The doctors said it might take a while for him to come out of it, considering the trauma he'd been through. Or, they explained gently, he might never wake up.

That wasn't an option Peter was going to consider. He'd wake up. He was Neal.

Elizabeth and June were regular visitors, and even Mozzie came by almost every day. He'd explained what he thought Neal had done, which was to try and take on their current case by himself. It made sense. Especially coupled with the fact that Neal and Peter hadn't exactly been getting along well at the time. Peter was really regretting that now. He could see that he'd been unreasonable.

As it was, he could only talk to Neal and hope that somehow his words were heard. They said that sometimes people who had been in comas woke up to say that they'd heard everything. Even so, he'd feel much better when Neal could talk back to him, no matter what he had to say.

-)()(-

Neal had gone back to the bureau. He didn't like it, but maybe there he could figure things out. The man in Peter's office looked at him when he walked in, but waited for Neal to speak.

"I'm sorry about before," Neal started, though that was a complete lie. He was only here to look for answers.

"Don't worry about it," the man said. "I'm glad you came back, though. We couldn't have done this today without you."

Neal tilted his head. "Done what?"

The man stared at him. "Your meeting with McKay at noon? Jesus, Bennett, what kind of week have you been having?"

Neal gritted his teeth at the name, but spoke normally. "A shitty one. Listen, I need a favor. Can you see if there was ever an Agent Burke here?"

His apparent boss raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you do it yourself?"

"Because... I'm not allowed to go perusing the FBI files?"

The man shook his head with a laugh. "Boy, you really are on something. Just go do what you gotta do, okay? And don't forget. McKay. Noon."

Neal blinked, but walked out of the office and back to his own desk. He logged onto his computer, shocked to find that everything was accessible. Normally the thing was worthless because nobody trusted a criminal—

Ohhhhh. No more anklet. So then why was he here?

He left that thought for later, finding a file that listed all agents, past and present. Peter wasn't there. Neither were Jones, Diana, or even Cruz. Neal leaned back with a sigh, no closer to an answer than when he'd started.

It was then that he thought to dig in the drawers of his desk, finding nothing of interest until he came across a bright, shiny badge.

It wasn't a consultant's. It was real. And it had his name printed neatly on it.

Neal held it in his hands, staring at it incomprehensibly. So he was an agent, not a criminal. But he was alone.

Well, if that was the case, he didn't want it.

While he was here, though, he took the time to do some more digging, see what else he could find out about the FBI. To his disappointment, it wasn't much. They didn't even have a file on him. Then again, he'd been looking for Neal Caffrey, and apparently that wasn't his name anymore.

He typed in "Neal Bennett" and held his breath. There it was. An agent's file. It was all the standard stuff, along with a few tidbits here and there that conflicted with what he knew.

His father was listed as a retired cop, not a murderer. His mother was apparently dead. All of that was fairly simple to come to terms with, but then he saw another name listed. Some lady named Carrie with his last name. Wife. It said wife. It also said deceased, so he put that away before he opened up a new can of worms he didn't need to know about. It wasn't real.

He shut the computer off just in time to see Peter's replacement agent beckon to him from the top of the stairs. Did they not do the double finger point here?

There were a group of agents meeting in the conference room, going over the McKay thing, whatever that was. Neal listened, recognizing the play they were using. He'd done it with Peter once, a risky move both then and now, from what he could tell. They kept calling him Bennett, but he ignored it as best he could.

What he couldn't ignore was Peter's voice, which suddenly spoke from his right, though when he turned, there was no one there. He should expect that by now. Sometimes it wasn't even Peter he heard, but someone else, like Elizabeth or June. He'd never heard Mozzie, but somehow he felt him, like his presence alone was enough of a voice. 

"It's me again. El had to leave, but she says she'll bring more flowers when she does."

Neal smiled at that. She knew he liked flowers.

"Anyway, uh, not much has been going on. I'm back in the field again, but you know... It's not the same without you."

"Bennett," Fake Peter snapped, "Are you paying attention?"

Neal snapped out of it, though Peter continued talking to him, informing him of little things. "Yeah," he said, still half listening to his friend.

"Alright. Then let's go."

Peter stopped talking by the time Neal got in the van with the others, heading off to take down an apparent bad guy named McKay.

Fake Peter went over last minute instructions, then gave Neal a pat on the back. "Bennett, you're up. Good luck in there."

For the briefest of moments, Neal felt a sense of dread. He could feel something bad about to happen, though he wasn't sure what. It was like this was a movie he'd seen before, but couldn't remember it very well.

Regardless, he hopped out of the van, hesitating before he walked into the building Fake Peter had pointed out.

Each step felt like a mistake and Neal almost turned back, but he didn't, opening the glass doors to step through.

The second he did, the world flashed, going back and forth between this and something else, something vaguely familiar. It was an old parking lot. The sky was dark with clouds. A man stood across from him.

Neal froze, watching the scene flicker back to the building he was walking into, then again to the darkened parking lot.

The piece of lead hit him in the chest, just below the collarbone on his left side. It tore through muscle and bone, the momentum taking his upper body with it, but his legs were too slow to follow, so he fell hard, landing on his side with a breathless grunt.

He knew this horrible feeling. Shocked, he stared up at the sky, which grew darker and darker. Voices, hands, blood. He knew this.

He'd been waiting for Peter. Peter had never come.

Fake Peter was there now. But his face was blurred, like static. It just wouldn't come into focus. The face changed to Real Peter, his eyes wide with concern and he said, "Neal, it's okay. I'm right here."

Neal was just relieved to see him. He could have cried. It had felt like ages since he'd last seen a familiar face, even longer since he'd seen Peter's.

A rough hand held his and Neal looked down to see white sheets and an IV in his hand. There was something on his face, tickling his nose, but Peter wouldn't let him touch it, so it must have been important.

"Relax," Peter said again. "You're okay." At the same time, he pressed the call button nearby and Neal blinked in confusion. He felt like complete shit, and his eyes were heavy, threatening to pull him back into that other world, but the thought scared him, so he fought against it.

"You okay?" Peter asked him. "How are you feeling?"

Neal barely had the energy to raise an eyebrow at that, and even then, he wasn't sure it looked remotely how he wanted it to.

Peter seemed to understand and he smiled sympathetically. "Yeah, I know. Stupid question."

Some lady walked in and ushered Peter out, which was disappointing. She then proceeded to invade his bubble in every way imaginable and ask him questions to which he replied with a nod or a shake of his head.

By the end of that ordeal, he could barely keep his eyes open, but Peter came back, so that was nice.

Neal was afraid to sleep, though. What if he woke up in that place again, alone and purposeless?

Peter's hand in his chased those fears away. Peter was there to hold onto him, making sure he didn't go anywhere. He could sleep.

-)()(-

Neal was in and out for the first few days, and when he was awake, he was quiet and peaceful, though he was even more so when someone held his hand or something like that. It was almost cute.

After he was out of danger, though, he became insufferable. He went back to being sneaky old Neal Caffrey who had to be tracked down three times and wrangled back to his room. One of those times, Peter was actually impressed with his plan, which involved Mozzie dressing as a doctor. Probably would have worked, too, if it hadn't been for a nurse who recognized him.

Neal was finally released under strict orders to stay at home and do basically nothing for at least five days. It would likely be a week or so before he was allowed back at the bureau anyway. Allowed, sure, but Peter would be confining him to desk work for a while.

Neal seemed overly happy about everything, especially when he got back to June's. He looked around like it was his first time seeing the place and when June herself appeared, he looked like he might cry.

Mozzie stayed with him, much to Peter's relief. He knew if someone wasn't there watching him, Neal would only get himself into more trouble. He had no low speed, and when he was hurt as badly as he was, that was a problem.

The week passed and Neal returned to the office. Once again, Peter saw him look around like it was all new and exciting.

"What?" he teased. "Forgot what it feels like to work?"

"No," Neal smiled. "It's just nice. Everything looks the same way I left it."

"Why wouldn't it?" Peter questioned. "It's been the same for as long as I've worked here. That's not changing anytime soon."

"I really hope not," Neal said, an odd look in his eye. "I don't ever want to look up there and see some stranger in your office."

Peter paused, tilting his head. "Where's all this coming from?"

Neal thought for a moment. "When I was... you know... I had this really weird dream. Except it didn't feel like a dream, it was more like..."

"Heaven?" Peter interjected. "How'd they let you in there?"

"Stop," Neal muttered, rolling his eyes. "It wasn't heaven. It was here. I was an agent with the bureau, off anklet, I had a badge and everything."

Peter tried to keep from laughing at that. "That was definitely a dream."

"It was horrible," Neal said, catching Peter off guard.

"How so?"

"No one else was there," Neal answered. "You, Elizabeth, Mozzie, June. It was like you never existed. I had to report to some other agent in your office, the bureau wasn't even run by Hughes. I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find a single person I knew..."

Peter looked at him thoughtfully, but didn't say anything other than, "That sounds rough."

Neal hummed. "And my name was Bennett." He made a face, and laughed. "But you know what? I could hear you talking to me."

Peter blinked, surprised. "You could?"

Neal smiled, giving him a pat. "Don't worry. I won't expect the same level of fondness when I'm awake."

The matter was dropped, no need to speak of it again, but Peter couldn't help but think about that scenario. What if Neal had become an agent with the bureau? Would they have met under different circumstances? Would they still be friends?

It was impossible to say. But one thing was for sure, he thought as he watched Neal perch himself on a female agent's desk and smile at her.

Neal Caffrey belonged here as much as anyone.


End file.
